


Kind

by gwyllgi



Series: Fenris Unplugged [4]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-17
Updated: 2012-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-31 08:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwyllgi/pseuds/gwyllgi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris doesn't give gifts; he disposes of obligations. <i>Fenris didn't know what he was doing there.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoAsakura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoAsakura/gifts).



> Part of Fenris's alphabet series (for which I really need to come up with a better name). The slash goggles are getting progressively more unnecessary.

Fenris didn't know what he was doing there. He had no reason to be there, should in fact be as far as possible from the place, but there he was: hovering outside the door of Anders's clinic, staring blindly at the flickering lanterns as his feet refused to move in any direction. The door swung open and closed, open and closed, as the needy of Darktown sought their healer, left after their treatment, some in tears, some clutching small packets, some with a renewed spring in their step--well, at least as much as anyone could spring in Darktown.

The door opened yet again, and there was Anders, silhouetted against the brighter light from within the clinic. "You might as well come in; you're scaring the natives."

Fenris frowned, ready to argue for the sake of arguing when the box in his hands rattled. He looked down at it, then met Anders's curious gaze and nodded sharply. "I should come in."

The clinic was much as he'd remembered it: stinking of blood and other bodily fluids, the cots for patients cobbled together from what was available, the blankets--what blankets there were--nearly as tattered as the clinic's clientele. The people were much the same also, running the gamut from frightened to furious, desperation lurking beneath everything else. Fenris found his lip curling as Anders moved away from him to tend to a patient, and forced it to smooth; he could attend to his business quickly and be on his way, and that would be the end of his time spent in this miserable place.

Not knowing what else to do, he followed Anders, watching over the mage's shoulder as he applied a foul-smelling poultice to a man's injured leg. Why didn't the man simply use magic to heal it? He'd healed smaller injuries of Fenris's, leaving barely a mark in the knitted flesh. Perhaps the mage was simply a sadist, using magic on Fenris who despised it, leaving others who needed it with herbs and extracts. He realized his lip was curling again when he caught the patient shooting a fearful gaze at him, and exhaled hard through his nose.

"We should talk," he said, unable to keep the habitual sharpness from his tone. Stupid, that wasn't what he was here for, as the box rattling again in his hands reminded him. "Aren't you done?"

"Can it wait?" Anders glanced over his shoulder at him, and Fenris realized for the first time how tired the man looked, as though he was running on will alone. Fenris shook his head, and Anders sighed, checking the patient's leg again before he turned to brush past Fenris, heading toward a small portion of the clinic separated by a hung blanket. "We can talk over here."

Fenris followed mutely until they were shielded by the blanket. The area was so small that there was barely enough room for the cot serving as a bed, much less for two grown men. Anders was close enough that Fenris could smell him over the stench of the clinic, sweat and dirt and the wintergreen that Fenris always associated with his magic. He shook his head at his own fancy, then thrust the box he held at Anders's chest. "This is for you," he said, then amended, "I didn't know what else to do with it."

"Why, Fenris, I didn't know you cared." Anders's grin was cheeky as he took the box and set it on the cot, but the expression slid away as he opened it and stared down at its contents. "That would explain the air holes," he said at last. Glancing up at Fenris, a faint smile curled the corners of his mouth in perhaps the most honest expression Fenris had ever seen on him. "Does it have a name?"

"Meowdred," Fenris mumbled, then repeated it when Anders tilted his head: "Meowdred. His name is Meowdred."

"Meowdred," Anders echoed, then laughed, the sudden amusement making Fenris blink. "Quite an impressive name for such a little thing. I like it." Reaching into the box, he pulled out the tiny calico kitten, barely large enough to have been separated from his mother, and cradled it to his chest. "He's no he, though; he's a sweet little girl, isn't he? Aren't you, Meowdred?"

Fenris could feel his cheeks heating despite himself, absurdly grateful that his dark complexion and the dismal lighting hid the flush. "How was I to know he was female? I do not know anything of cats."

Anders laughed again as he rubbed his cheek over the kitten's head, the kitten reaching one paw out delicately to whap at his stubbled chin. "It's all right, I don't think she minds." He looked down at the kitten with a soft smile that Fenris had never seen before, that made his chest ache oddly. "She can't stay here, though; Darktown is no place for something small and edible."

Fenris scowled; it hadn't occurred to him that Anders wouldn't want his gift. "I'm not taking her back," he snapped.

"No, no," Anders said. Fenris recognized the soothing tone as one that Anders used on his patients, but the awareness didn't make it any less effective. "I'll find her a good home, don't you worry about that."

Unable to argue, Fenris nodded sharply and turned to go, only to stop when Anders touched him. Spinning, he had a snarl at the ready, but felt it slide from his face under the sheer weight of Anders's open expression.

"Thank you," Anders said, so quietly that Fenris had to strain to hear him. "This is very nearly the nicest thing anyone has given me. Thank you, Fenris."

If Anders noticed that Fenris's scowl was contrived, he had the grace to ignore it. "You're welcome," Fenris said, then turned to go again, telling himself that he wasn't fleeing so much as withdrawing from a field on which he no longer held the advantage. He stalked through the clinic, through Darktown, not stopping until he was sequestered in his squatter's home. He was an idiot, he told himself furiously, doubly so because he didn't know if he was stupid for going or stupid for leaving.

It wasn't until a few weeks later that he discovered Meowdred's fate. He'd run some errand or another for Hawke and found himself at Hawke's Hightown mansion, nodding vaguely to the dwarves who'd attached themselves to Hawke before he knelt next to Bastard to scratch behind the Mabari's ears as they both enjoyed. He didn't recognize the multi-colored ball between Bastard's paws until it uncurled and stretched, blinking wide orange eyes at Fenris.

"Meowdred," he greeted softly, running a finger gently under her chin. He startled at Bastard's soft whuff, but the kitten was unperturbed, settling in to idly groom one of Bastard's massive paws.

Fenris wouldn't have believed that anything Anders did could make him smile, but, as he scratched again behind Bastard's ears and watched the bit of fluff, he couldn't do anything else.


End file.
